


He could feel the sickness taking over

by Phantom_traveler



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: ...sort of I guess..., Assisted Suicide, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, Newwwwwtttttt, Suicidal Thoughts, This series hurt me, Why Did I Write This?, let's all cry together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_traveler/pseuds/Phantom_traveler
Summary: this is just newt's point of view before THAT scene..." He was getting out of a track right in the middle of a crowd of ruthless monsters. The kid proved once again that whatever he had plenty in braveness, he lacked in common sense or self-preservation"





	He could feel the sickness taking over

**Author's Note:**

> A//N: so this was my first fanfiction ever. I wrote it about, give or take 5 years ago, sooo… please be tolerant and kind. I’m not a native English speaker so I apologize for any butchering of the language, I promise it was unintentional  
Constractive criticism is always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this first attempt at fanfiction  
CAUTION!!! read the tags people. This ain't light reading

He could feel the sickness taking over, eating away at any sense of reality and self he had left, he stopped counting the days a while back. There was no reason to after all. He knew the end would come, _his _end. He had come to terms with that, the madness on the other hand, that, he was not prepared for. He knew he would lose his mind eventually, that was a given, due to the sickness but knowing and experiencing are two totally different things. He was not prepared for the absolute loss of control that came with losing one’s mind. There were moments when he lost touch with reality, he didn’t know what was real and what not anymore, he didn’t know whether something was a figment of his imagination or something he did while he was under.

It was like there were two worlds inside his mind, two selves. He could feel the constantly battling each other. A week after he’s been told, his sane self, had waged war on the personality that was taking over. It was never quiet in his head these days. _So much noise_. Sometimes he thought about putting an end to it. He didn’t though. Not because he didn’t have the guts or the determination to go through with it. No on the contrary, he has proven that he could and would put an end to his misery and pain but that’s why he can’t now. He promised he never would attempt something of the like ever again.

Of course back when his friends made him promise, no one was aware of the fact that he would be in a position where he couldn’t distinguish himself from the animal that the illness was turning him into. He knew, logically that they wouldn’t hold it against him but he still had a sense of responsibility, he felt an obligation, misplaced as it might be, to keep the promise he made to his friends, _his brothers_ for all intents and purposes, that he would keep living, keep on fighting against his depression till the last moment, but it is so _hard, pointless, _what was left of his mind seemed to sometimes scream, sometimes whisper at him, most often than not even beg of him to finish it before any sense abandoned him for good.

That’s all that was going on in his mind these days, during his still enough moments of lucidity. Or the note he gave to Tommy, yeah that too took a lot of space of his scrambled as it was mind. He couldn’t believe Tommy didn’t do it or rather, he didn’t want to accept the fact that even his friend, not to mention the one that was at least partially responsible for their current predicament, wouldn’t give him the peace that he _oh so_ _desperately_ needed at the moment. He tried to make himself hate him, he tried really bloody hard to do so, but what logic was still left in him recognized the fact that even if it wasn’t just that Tommy didn’t want to have his friend’s blood on his hands, considering his confused demeanor during their last meeting it might actually be that he hadn’t read his note.

Which raised a lot more questions like when in the bloody hell would he consider to do so as if up until then the situation hadn’t yet called for it?

That’s what his thoughts were on the matter when he was thinking straight. When he wasn’t though… well… to say it wasn’t pretty would be an understatement.

That’s when the madness took over and brought to the surface every animalistic instinct and desire that might have ever been pushed down or not even considered at all. His thoughts became dark, his actions and urges turned violent; he imagined pouncing upon Tommy and tearing his big doe eyes out. He imagined hearing him scream bloody murder. Snapping in half his small and lean frame, hearing him cry out in agony, while in so much pain that, he would regret, for his however short existence or rather his however prolonged nightmare of one, that he hadn’t granted him his last wish as a sane person **_as himself._**

And then it would go away. He’d snap out of whatever kind of reverie he was in, like a spell breaking and he would beat himself up for even considering doing something so brutal to someone he has come to call a brother. He’d be ashamed of himself while at the same time trying to be reassuring and comforting by reminding himself that it wasn’t all him. It’s what the virus did; it attacked the brain and stripped the person from everything that made them human while simultaneously bringing to the surface all kinds of brutality and sadism. He kept on telling himself that at least. If nothing else it was an attempt at dealing with his situation.

And wasn’t that ironic, Minho used to accuse him of always being the voice of reason always preventing him from doing something, while admittedly funny at the same time not something that would help the peace prevail in their little community. Now here he was contemplating torture one moment and then trying to tell himself it wasn’t his fault. When he wasn’t playing mindless jombie he was doubling as a living, breathing contradiction. He could practically feel the line that diverted his mind in three: the raging monster, the shameful, regretful young man and the voice of reason. He didn’t particularly enjoy playing the devil’s advocate on himself but there was no one else that could do it for him. Here he was again alone in world full of people.

That’s what he was thinking about when he saw him. He was getting out of a track right in the middle of a crowd of ruthless monsters. The kid proved once again that whatever he had plenty in braveness, he lacked in common sense or self-preservation.

He saw chocolate doe eyes lock on him and then… then an instinct so primal took over that he had no hope of even trying to prevent or delay it. He couldn’t recognize what it was. He’d like to think that he was trying to protect Tommy by marking his prey, effectively preventing the others from interfering. If he showed them that this one was his then the reckless, careless idiot might actually have a chance at saving his sorry ass.

On the other hand (because like it was aforementioned, devil’s advocate) he didn’t actually believed that his intentions were so noble and his cause so pure. It was more likely that the madness took over and led him to pounce upon Tommy like some kind of feral animal, a rabid dog.

He tackled the boy to the ground, straddling his hips and grabbing him by the shoulders shaking and pushing his nails in, tightening his hold on the smaller boy’s shoulders to a painful level.

He could feel an animalistic kind of growl working its way up his throat escaping his mouth through his gritted teeth. The sound and the expression that accompanied it was so foreign on his face that Tommy froze and just looked at him.

He got the notion that he was talking, yelling more likely, probably threatening the younger boy whilst letting spit flow from his broken, chapped and bloody lips. He could see Tommy’s eyes widen and he could pinpoint the exact moment when Tommy realized just how far gone his friend actually was. He could detect the silver of hope leaving the boy’s eyes disappearing once and for all and along with it any thoughts of helping his friend fled the pinned boy’s mind.

He could see it from the kind of crushed look Tommy got upon his face, his shoulders slumping with defeat and he just couldn’t have that. He looked down at their joined hands and saw himself pressing a gun in Tommy’s hands. No he couldn’t have that indeed. He couldn’t let the last image of him in his friend’s memories being one of a lunatic.

He fought the madness and the illness and just for a few precious last moments he felt himself come to his senses. He looked with what he imagined were clear eyes right into Tommy’s ones hoping to convey as many of his emotions as he could with that glance.

And with a raw but otherwise steady voice and gaze he uttered the words that would either grant him peace or disappointment or pain because he no doubt would go berserk if he was denied his dying wish and he would **not** come back from that one.

He tightened his grip on the weapon and on Tommy’s hands and opened his mouth

** _Please Tommy, please_ **

He said and then blackness

And then he found salvation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you sooo much for reading and I'm so sorry for hurting you but that scene was fucking awful and this is my then teenaged attempt at processing. I actually wasn't sure if I wanted to post or not but then I thought..eh why not.  
And remember even gibberish counts for us. We're writers just smash your dashboard and post it as a comment. We'll still love it.


End file.
